When I started this blog three months ago, my goal was to write one post a week. As pieces are now being published and traffic increases, I’ve been stricter with that goal, to keep momentum and the blog current.
Last week, however, I wrote nothing. There was nothing I could say.
It just didn’t feel right to sit here writing ridiculous Top Ten pieces for this pseudo mom blog while there are seventeen moms in Florida who are burying their children.
I felt that if I posted my usual whimsical musings about motherhood that it would seem trite, like I was ignoring the situation.
However, I don’t feel it’s my place to write about what happened in Parkland. What can I possibly write that everyone isn’t already feeling?
I know people are writing about their take on gun laws and mental illness. I’ve read them all and I have my opinions. I hate guns and I don’t know enough about mental illness to weigh in on that. So that sums that up.
I started thinking about why this shooting is so much more than just a headline. Why am I feeling it so much more profoundly than all the other terrible headlines in the news?
Is it because I send my own kids to a school every day? (Click here to read about when I heard sirens and thought there was a shooting at my kids’ school).
Is it because my maternal empathy gets greater as my children get older?
Is it because the students at Marjory Stoneman Douglas are kicking ass and making it impossible to forget them?
Is it because shootings a have become so commonplace that it’s just a matter of time before it intimately affects my community?
Am I experiencing some misplaced form of survivor’s guilt? Not guilt as in “I am lucky to have survived,” but guilt as in “it wasn’t my turn now, but it will be soon.”
I live in a suburb of New York City. After 9/11 everyone had a story. Everyone either had known someone who had been lost in the attack, or knew someone who knew someone. Everyone had their own personal tales of terror that day, whether they were in the city covered with soot, or standing across the Hudson, watching.
Are shootings becoming that prevalent that soon we will all be connected to them by six degrees of separation?
One of my Facebook friends, Jill, lives in Parkland, Florida. Her children are too young to be in the high school, but old enough to know that something terrible happened.
When I tucked my boys in last Wednesday, I read them a Spider-Man comic book. Fictitious villains did screwed up things to innocent people and Spider-Man swings in and makes it all better.
Jill, however, had to tuck her girls in and tell them a true story. A story that little kids shouldn’t be hearing.
A story that even Spider-Man can’t make all better.